Pillar of Support
by btamamura
Summary: A Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes fic. Watson was shaken by the events he'd borne witness to in Afghanistan. There were times he'd really struggle; good thing he has a friend to help him through it. Platonic. Mentions of what is to be expected in a war. Rated to be safe.


**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They are the properties of their respective owners._

 **Notes:** _ **I'd been talking with a friend of mine about this idea a couple of months or so ago. Anyway, though some respond differently to certain situations, the original Watson had mentioned his nerves were still shaken from what he'd been through. So, I had put the idea to Hound helping his Watson through a fit induced by traumatic memories.**_

 _ **As with all**_ _Sherlock Hound_ _ **fics,**_ _Hound_ _ **is used instead of**_ _Holmes_ _ **.**_

 _ **Relationships are platonic, there is hinting of Watson's crush on Mrs. Hudson. There are mentions of what is expected in a war, though not severely graphic (blood is mentioned but no descriptions of the worst kinds of injuries).**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **(Linebreaks hate me so I will use**_ _SHJW_ _ **.)**_

SHJW

It had started out subtly but grew more noticeable as time passed. Even so, Sherlock Hound found himself mentally scolding himself as he sat and observed Dr. John H. Watson, hoping he would rest well for the rest of the night.

But, that of course is not how the story starts; oh no, not by a long shot. So, how did it start? Well, it initially began on a stormy afternoon a few days after Watson had moved into 221B Baker Street at the insistence of Hound himself.

SHJW

They were both in the sitting room; Hound was by his chemistry bench examining a specimen under the lens of his microscope and Watson sat on the armchair nearby, contentedly reading the newspaper.

"Hmm...if I adjust the lens, it should appear much clearer..." Hound murmured to himself. He paused as he heard the sound of raindrops hitting the roof. "A sudden shower. Though, judging by the air this morning, I am inclined to believe there will be a thunderstorm."

Watson tensed up slightly. "A thunderstorm, you say?"

"Indeed, my dear Watson, though there is no need to worry; the roof was repaired so no water will leak through."

He forced a chuckle. "Quite. Good thing there aren't yet any cases then, eh?"

"Well, though a case would be welcome," he paused as he witnessed a flash of lightning out of his peripheral vision, "I must agree with you on that".

There was a loud crack of thunder, it sounded like someone was cracking a whip right above their place of residence. For Watson, however, it brought something else to mind. He tried to focus on the text in the paper, but his memories were forcing themselves to the forefront of his mind.

Hound turned to look out the window, but then his eyes caught sight of Watson. "I say, my friend, are you alright?"

Watson's ears were perked stiff, his eyes wide and his fur bristled. He was stuck in another place, one far less comforting than his new home.

"Watson?" He approached him, crouched to eye-level and placed his paws on his shoulders. "Watson, can you hear me?"

The voice, one that was familiar and full of concern, brought him back. He blinked once and suddenly, the images of a bloody battlefield were replaced by the worried visage of his friend. "Hound?"

"My dear Watson, if you fear thunder, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Shall I play something for you on my violin to help soothe your nerves?"

Watson didn't exactly know how to respond. He didn't fear the thunder itself, but the sound had consequences for his mind, shaken by war. The offer his friend made sounded like a good idea though, it could serve as a distraction and ground him to his current reality. "May I please make a request?"

"Of course."

"I don't have a specific song in mind, but could it be something jubilant?"

He nodded and smiled. "Of course it can, Watson." He rose to a standing position, lifting his paws from Watson's shoulders. He made his way to where he had stored his Stradivarius case.

Watson focused his attentions on his friend's movements as the thunder continued to rumble outside. It wasn't long before he heard such a jaunty tune that the thunder would soon be forgotten.

SHJW

The next incident occured when he was speaking with Mrs. Marie Hudson downstairs. "It must be hard work maintaining your garden alone," he'd remarked.

Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly and shook her head. "Oh no, not in the least! I quite enjoy gardening, it's rather relaxing."

"Is that so? Well then, I'm pleased to hear that. Still, if you'd like some help one day, you only need to ask and I shall assist you."

"That's very kind of you, Doctor."

He blushed lightly and was about to say more when the sound of an explosion sounded from upstairs.

Mrs. Hudson was startled for a second, but she quickly realised what had happened. She was about to tell Watson that it wasn't anything to worry about as Hound was cautious with his experiments, but paused when he bolted for the staircase, up the seventeen steps and burst through the sitting room door.

The only thoughts on his mind were that he hoped he wouldn't find his friend in a state of medical emergency, much like many soldiers had on the battlefield.

There were a few coughs and then a huff of displeasure. "Well, that experiment was a failure," Hound murmured, dusting himself off and moving to open the window.

Watson immediately made his way to his friend. "Hound, are you alright?! Are you unharmed?!"

The urgency in his friend's tone caused him slight alarm; he'd never heard him sound so worried before. "Watson, I assure you I am quite fine. I am disappointed in the lack of result from my experiment and a bit dirty, but unharmed."

Watson looked to the chemistry bench and noticed some shards of glass. He quickly turned back to Hound. "Are you sure?! You weren't hit by shrapnel, by any chance?"

"No no, I'm alright. I will need to clean the shards of that beaker however."

"You're absolutely certain? You know for sure none entered you?"

"My dear Watson, would you feel better if you examined me yourself? I do assure you, I am unharmed. The beaker was not what I used in the experiment but was in the range."

He stepped closer. "Let me examine your paws at least. Please."

He nodded. It seemed his friend had been shaken by the explosion; the least he could do was allow him to confirm he wasn't injured. He held out his paws and patiently waited for Watson to complete his examination.

He nodded in satisfaction, sagging slightly with relief and muttering _thank goodness_ before releasing his friend's paws. "What were you experimenting on?"

Hound proceeded to give him a detailed explanation while moving to clear up the shards that were once a beaker. He couldn't help wondering why it was Watson had reacted in such a manner, knowing it wasn't just because of his profession.

SHJW

The most striking moment however were the events of the evening of which this story started. Hound was pacing around the sitting room, his pipe exuding a cloud of smoke as he pondered the sequence of events that linked the clues in their latest case. He was still far from weaving it together when a loud scream sounded. He threw the thoughts of the case to the back of his mind for that moment; the screams had come from Watson's room.

He'd dashed out of the sitting room and was just outside Watson's door when he heard Mrs. Hudson call in concern from downstairs. "Please return to your room for now, Mrs. Hudson, you'll be safer there should there be an intruder." He then threw open the door, prepared to fight off whoever was threatening his best friend. To his surprise, Watson was alone. To his _alarm_ , Watson was tossing, turning and making sounds of anguish.

He raced forward, turning on the gas lamp above the bed. "Watson! Watson, I need you to wake up!" He placed his paws on his shoulders and started to gently shake him. "Come, Watson, return to Baker Street!"

With a final cry, Watson bolted upright.

Hound praised his quick reflexes; if he hadn't moved back at the right moment, their heads would've had a painful collision. "Watson?"

His eyes were still shut and he was murmuring.

"Watson!"

He gasped and his eyes flew open. It took a minute for him to register his whereabouts. "H-Hound? What are you doing in my room? Have you solved the case?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Disregard the case for now, my dear Watson. You were in the throes of a horrific nightmare. Your cries brought me in here." He left out the part about Mrs. Hudson being awoken by them, not wanting Watson to feel guilt on top of what was bothering him.

"I see. I remember. It wasn't a nightmare."

"What do you mean?"

"It was...no, I'm bothering you with my weakness. Never mind, forget it."

"I don't know what it is that you're speaking of, nor shall I guess out of consideration for my dearest friend. But, fright is not weakness. I won't judge you for whatever you want to say."

"Hound..."

"I didn't judge you about the thunder, did I?"

"No. Actually, you were reassuring. Alright, but it's...not exactly easy to speak of." He threw back his covers and lifted his nightshirt enough to show a scar on his left thigh. The fur in that patch was slowly growing over it. He lowered the nightshirt again, pulled the covers back over himself, unbuttoned his nightwear and bared another scar barely covered by growing fur. It was on his left shoulder.

"One of the first things you told me about yourself is that you'd been in Afghanistan. What you hadn't told me until just this very moment is that you'd acquired injuries that had you discharged."

He nodded solemnly. "Jezail bullets struck me when I was aiding a comrade in Maiwand. As if that wasn't bad enough, I contracted enteric fever."

Hound couldn't repress the sympathetic wince. He had noticed Watson would be more stiff with his left arm and would rub his left thigh on cold nights, but he'd never suspected what had actually caused the pain.

"So, after months of pain and general malaise, I was finally granted relief. I was informed that since my body was still recovering from the effects of the illness, I was discharged due to being unfit for duty. I'd been trying to repress the memories of all I saw and heard, but it's a lot harder than I thought."

His eyes widened in realisation. "You're not afraid of thunder."

"No, but the _sound_ it makes reminds me of gunfire. The loud crack in the early stages was a near shot while the rumbles were the echoes of cannons and rifles being fired endlessly. I was taken to the battlefield and was almost stuck in there."

"The explosion also served to take you back into the past."

He nodded. "More than once I had tended to a young man who'd suffered grievous harm from grenades and landmines. There were also those with shrapnel embedded into them that served to take them much too soon."

"Hence your insistence on ensuring I had not been struck by the glass shards of the beaker that suffered in the explosion."

Another nod. "I think tonight was the worst flashback I had experienced. All around me, men were crying from the pain of their wounds or mourning a lost comrade. Many were dying despite our best efforts. At that moment..." He shivered.

Hound's frown deepened.

"The enemy had infiltrated our barracks and proceeded to slaughter our men like cattle. We lost more men that day than any other."

"My dear Watson, I am so very sorry you had to experience such horrors."

"Thank you, Hound, but...that's the reality of war. I'm sure you've experienced your fair share of horror on your cases."

"Nothing compared to what you have."

"Then, I hope you never do, my dear Hound." He yawned. "Oh, excuse me."

"It's quite alright, the hour has grown late and you've been on your feet all day. You should try getting some more sleep."

"I'd love to, but I'm actually fretful about falling asleep again."

"I understand. Then, you're welcome to join me in the sitting room. You can lie on the sofa, whether you fall asleep or not, and I shall soothe you with a peaceful melody."

He smiled graciously and climbed out of the bed.

"Never mind changing, just bring a pillow."

He nodded and followed after his friend, grabbing his pillow.

SHJW

Hound had played many peaceful songs that night, they eventually worked as the perfect lullabies for his dear friend. He sat across from the sofa, his pipe in his mouth, as he observed Watson finally getting some sleep. _I should have realised much sooner what was bothering him! The clues were all there! I chastise him for failing to observe what he sees, and yet I have done the same. From now on, I will pay much closer attention. The next time Watson seems troubled, I will ask what is the matter and help quell him if it's required._ The case remained stored in the back of his mind-attic as he continued to keep vigil over his friend, hoping to Providence that he be spared from more of the horrific memories of a bloody battlefield in a country far away.

He knew that there was a strong likelihood of more moments like those. However, he also knew that next time, he'd be better prepared to help his friend through it.

SHJW

 **After notes:** _ **No, folks, Watson has not just gotten over it. I don't do that; mental illness doesn't go away instantly and that applies to PTSD as well since that is a mental illness. But, he's been granted a way to relax so for the timebeing, he is at ease.**_

 _ **It is very important that those who struggle with PTSD not feel like they are weak or that they're alone. Like Hound had done for Watson, if someone you care about is struggling, help them and, if possible, help encourage them to get help (never force it, just help guide them on the path).**_

 _ **Thanks for reading! You don't have to leave a review, but if you do want to say something, please don't flame. Constructive criticism is welcomed as always!**_


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